As manly as John Watson was, he did have some…feminine habits. One of those habits happened to be taking bubble baths. No one knew this, of course. He wasn't Sherlock Holmes, but he wasn't stupid either. He knew people would laugh and make jokes, so he went to almost extreme measures to ensure that no one knew. He would buy the bubbles from a store a good hour away from his flat, for example, making sure that no one he knew would recognize him.
However, it had been a long time since the last time he had taken such a wonderful bath—far too long. And what with his long shifts at the hospital, and Sherlock dragging him all across London nearly every night, John sure as hell needed a nice long bubble bath.
So as nonchalantly as he could, John went downstairs to find Sherlock. He didn't know how he was going to kind his roommate out for the evening. He just knew it had to happen.
Sherlock was sitting at their kitchen table, dropping some kind of blue liquid into—John didn't even want to know what. John went to make tea, and Sherlock glanced up at him. "Ah, John, perfect. I'm afraid that I'll be out for a while. Mycroft has decided that it's imperative I work on some meaningless case of his. I should return sometimes tomorrow evening, maybe a tad earlier." Sherlock didn't even try to hide his annoyance with his brother.
"Oh, really. Uh, what's that case?" Sherlock went into a bunch of details then, but John was hardly paying attention. He hid his excitement well, though, because through his nodding and hums of agreement, Sherlock didn't say anything, nor did he look at John suspiciously.
Finally Sherlock sighed, putting a lid of whatever experiment he was doing. "Therefore, you'll have the flat to yourself until at least tomorrow afternoon, so try not to be too bored without me," he said with a hint of humor.
John smiled. "I'll try not to shoot the wall or anything." Sherlock chuckled then looked at his watch.
"Hmm, I suppose I should be going. My brother isn't exactly known for his patience." John nodded and watched as Sherlock grabbed his signature coat and scarf and walked out the door. He stood by the counter, waiting a full three minutes after Sherlock left before he snatched his own jacket and bolted out of the door. John could barely contain his delight, even letting out a very non-manly giggle at one point.
Two and a half hours later, though, a very happy John was standing in the bathroom, stripping off his clothes while the tub filled with hot water. As he sunk into the bath, pouring in all the soap he had bought—God, he loved the smell of lavender—he closed his eyes and let out a sigh of contentment. So this is what it feels like to be relaxed. Not having to worry about patients, or chasing killers, or being kidnapped by said killers. Just John, the bubbles, and the silence of the flat…
"Oh, John, I nearly forgot—" His eyes snapped open and saw Sherlock standing in the doorway of the bathroom. He immediately sat up, trying to inconspicuously move the bubbles to cover himself. He could feel his face heating up. Sherlock, however, seemed unaffected, continuing his sentence as though he hadn't just walked in on John. Naked. In the bath.
"I need you to do me a favor and get those notes you took on that case last week." He said it so casually, as if John was just making tea in the kitchen, and not sitting naked in a bathtub filled with bubbles.
"T-they should be on the desk," John stuttered out. He didn't want to see how red his face must be, because Sherlock was still standing there, and oh God, John really hoped there were enough bubbles surrounding him.
Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes. "Yes, only they're not. I already looked there." So Sherlock had come into the flat, and had rummaged through all the papers on the desk? Either he had learned how to be even quieter, or John really needed to go get his hearing checked. Suddenly, Sherlock narrowed his eyes, tilting his head to the side. "Are you alright, John?"
"Yes, yes, I'm fine. Or I would be, if you would just step out of the bathroom and give me a minute to…put something on." Sherlock scoffed this time. "Oh please, don't try to act like you're shy. You're an army doctor, after all."
Sherlock was right after all. John had seen the human body plenty of times before, and had certainly shown his fair share of the male body. But for some reason, being in front of Sherlock, John felt as self-conscious as he had on his first date, all nervous and unsure.
John shook his head, and Sherlock smirked. "No, it's something else. You're face is all red, and you're sitting up perfectly straight—too straight for comfort or relaxation. I'm sure if I were to take your pulse, it would be skyrocketing." Sherlock stepped forward, are outstretch, most likely to put his fingers to John's neck. However, when he put his foot down, he landed on a particularly slippery tile, and fell into the bath, on top of John.
His feet were hanging out, torso completely drenched, one hand on the side of the tub, the other in the water, and his face was extremely close to John's. So close, in fact, that John could feel Sherlock's breath and he exhaled sharply.
He cleared his throat, looking anywhere but Sherlock's face, talking unusually low. "Um, y-you're hand, Sherlock…it's, um…well you see…" Sherlock glanced down and quickly scrambled to get out of the bathtub. For the first time since John had known him— and probably the first time in his life—Sherlock Holmes looked flustered.
His pale face was very clearly pink, and he pointedly avoiding looking in John's direction. "Yes, well…I suppose I can do without those notes. You, um…" He cleared his throat, walking to the door. "Finish your bath, and I'm going to go change. Then I'll be off. See you…tomorrow."
John took a shaky breath, putting his head in his hands. He couldn't believe that just happened.
That was the last time John Watson ever took a bubble bath.